


Apophasis

by domesticadventures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1648958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domesticadventures/pseuds/domesticadventures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9x18 coda.</p>
<p>Here are the things that Castiel is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apophasis

Castiel is not in love.

Angels, as humans typically conceive of them in their stories, are certainly capable of love. They’re also typically the white-robed, golden-haloed, perch-on-your-shoulder type of angels, though, which is to say they’re as much of a fantasy as the worlds they inhabit.

Dean calls angels “dicks” and gets far closer to the truth. He said, once, that angels can’t care, that they don’t have the equipment. That when they try, it just breaks them apart.

Castiel thinks that’s probably fair. That’s how he feels now, at any rate, and he knows it’s more than just his stolen grace burning up and taking part of him along with it. It’s the memory of that mark on Dean’s arm, that look in his eyes, that’s crushing him, creating more cracks in his chassis than he thinks he can bear. He may have free will, may have whatever it is not-really-Gabriel said set him apart, but he's been delusional before. He will never again make the mistake of thinking he is capable of more than he is.

He is an angel. Maybe not just a soldier, but still just an angel.

He tries very, very hard not to be in love.

\--

Castiel is not a leader.

He knows this now more than ever, his new memories giving him thousands of reference points, thousands of examples against which he can compare himself and find himself wanting. He is not Harry Potter, not Roland Deschain, not Ender Wiggin. The chosen one, the heartless gunslinger with blue bombardier’s eyes, the boy who loved his enemies enough to destroy them completely -- he cannot be any of these things.

He is, perhaps, Hermione Granger, Jake Chambers, Julian Delphiki: the student, the survivor, the strategist. But he is not the protagonist of Metatron’s story, and perhaps not even the protagonist of his own.

He takes off the coat that defines him, his bat cape, his red S, his golden lasso. He stares at the wall and wonders what he is without it.

He tears down his research, paints a sigil in the empty space, and waits.

He puts on his coat and opens the door.

\--

Castiel is not a hero.

Here’s what would happen if he was: He would commit to this cause wholeheartedly. Hannah would come to him with stars in her eyes and he would take her by the hand and face down Metatron with her by his side. They would emerge victorious because the villain of the piece always underestimates the power of love, always spends too long on the gloating, the monologues. They would return to heaven, where they would spend the rest of their days passing on their wisdom to the other angels. Hannah would look at Castiel like he is her world. They would kiss; fade to black.

He thinks of everything he’s done, all the things he isn’t proud of but for which he’s beginning to suspect he will never be able to redeem himself. He’s losing faith in himself, in his belief that angels can learn to be something more than what they are, even now, even as they come to him in cargo pants, in skirts, in flip-flops and combat boots, in everything from white to plaid to tie-dye. He does not think he will make Joseph Campbell proud. He does not think Hannah will ever look at him like he’s something more than what he is.

Dean looks at him that way, but even if he were the hero, that is not how any of the stories go.

\--

Castiel is sick of stories.

He’s sick of this story in particular, this one where he can’t figure out exactly how it’s supposed to go. He suspects he won’t enjoy the ending, and so far he’s liking the journey even less.

He makes a decision.

He takes off his coat, leaves it where he knows Hannah will find it with a note that reads, “He must choose his own path; no one can choose it for him.” He hopes she’ll understand.

He gets in his car and half expects a song by The Proclaimers to come on the radio with suspicious timing, and when it doesn’t, he takes it as a sign he’s done the right thing. The last of his grace burns away as he drives. He keeps going, still in one piece.

He shows up at the bunker unannounced. The timing’s all wrong, not the last quiet moment before the final battle, not the turning point that will lead to the satisfying denouement. Dean opens the door and he looks tired and scared and hurt, and there’s nothing romantic about this, no sense that it’s anywhere close to the perfect moment.

"I love you," Cas says anyway.

He is not a very good angel.


End file.
